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The 

Bishop* s Move 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 
By 

John Oliver Hobbes 

and 

Murray Carson 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

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IE LISRARV OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copii-ii RucE'.vEO 

i\m. & 1002 

COPVBIQHT ENTRY 

C^,ftSS /S- XXn. No 
I COPY B. 



Copyright, 1902, bv 
PEARL MARY TERESA CRAIGIE 



I 



THE BISHOP'S MOVE. 



"The potential complement of the Bishop is eight 
and three fourths," Minor Tactics. 

CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY. 

AMBROSE, Bishop of Ranee 

FRANCIS HERICOURT, His nephew ...; 

MONSIGNOR CAMPDEN 

THE DUCHESS OF QUENTEN 

MRS. HERICOURT, Sister to the Bishop 

BARBARA ARRETON 

BROTHER HILARY 

HOUSEKEEPER, At the Chateau de Ranee 

MUSICIAN 

Printers, lay Brothers, servants. 



ACT I. SCENE— Refectory of the Abbey of Veyle, 
near Dinan. 

Three weeks pass. 
ACT II. SCENE— The Drawing room of the Chat- 
eau de Ranee. 

One night passes. 
ACT III. SCENE— The morning room at the Chat- 
eau de Ranee. 



ACT I. 



SCENE:— The Refectory of the Abbey of 
Veyle, near Dinan in Brittany. A printing 
press is set along the walls. There is a 
writing table with papers on it and a large 
pewter ink-pot. The pulpit overlooking the 
refectory must be in a conspicuous position. 
The windows above the printing press are 
mullioned, one is broken and covered with 
canvas, which must also be visible to the 
audience. There is a small side door leading 
into another room and two large double 
doors at the back. There are no other exits. 
Before the curtain rises the Brothers are 
heard chanting, they continue for a moment 
or two after the curtain has risen. When 
they cease, a bell rings and the workmen 
seated at the printing press rise and go out. 
Monsignor Campden is seated at the table 
writing. 

Francis Hericourt in the dress of a seminar- 
ist, is pacing up and down. 
FRANCIS— They seem ready for their dinner. (L. 

C.) 
MONSIG:— The Bishop gives them such excellent 
meals, that every peasant in the district will 
soon turn printer. But his lordship will not see 
that they are eating up more than the profits. 
FRANCIS— Probably he makes their work an excuse 
for feeding them during the slack months. He 
must know that it doesn't pay. 
MONSIG :— There is very little that your uncle does 
not observe ! Although tinkering is his hobby, 



6 

he is even clever enough to know that he cannot 
mend watches ! There are three returned this 
morning, and a lock, and as for the printing — 

FKANCIS — But then it amuses him. ( Goes to table 
E.G.) I often wish I had some peaceful simple 
hobby like this, which would bring me content- 
ment. (Sighs) And yet, it's rather dull being 
contented. 

MONSIG: — (Looking at him) It is not a common 
form of dullness, at any rate. 

FEANCIS — It's an awful thing when a fellow wants 
to be noble — and then, it is a certain handicap 
(Brother Hilary enters with some letters 
which he places on the table) 
to have such a fine man as uncle in the familj'-. 
You keep feeling that you are falling below the 
standard. (Goes L. ) 

MONSIG:— Wliat does the post mean at this hour? 

HILARY — There has been a special train from Paris, 
Monsignor, and this mail was brought piivately 
through the kindness of the Duchess of Quenten. 

FEANCIS— ( starting slightly ) Whom did you say? 
(comes to C.) 

HILARY— The Duchess of Quenten. (Long pause) 
( Brother Hilary goes out ) ( Francis pacing 
up and down L. Type Bus : ) 

MONSIG :— I wonder what brings her to this part of 
the world. But she is an impulsive creature, and, 
as she is always uncertain, it is a mercy that she 
has the means to take a special train whenever 
she requires change of air. (Throwing down 
type) You are very restless this morning, Fran- 
cis. You are not much like your uncle. 

FRANCIS— ( Advances to C. ) How could I be like a 
bishop at my age? 

MONSIG:— You might be like a budding Bishop! 

FRANCIS— I often wonder what my uncle was at 
three and twenty. Do you suppose he always 
knew that his vocation was really for the 
Church? 



MONSIG:— Surely you find him sympathetic? 
FRANCIS — Yes, that is the strange thing; he is so 
awfully good and yet he understands everybody. 
Sometimes, I think it may be because he had a 
French father and an English mother. 
MONSIG:— I don't follow your argument, my boy. 
FRANCIS— Well, he seems to have a French soul and 
an English heart. In a way, I dread the talk I 
am to have with him this morning. You see it 
will be decisive. I have got to say what I mean 
to do with my life. 
MONSIG: — Perhaps he will help you to decide. 
FRANCIS— Yes, but when you have to be helped to 
decide a thing it is always something you don't 
want to do. 

( Brother Hilary comes in hurriedly, through 
small door) 
HILARY— His lordship is coming. (Closes small 

door and opens double doors) 
MONSIG:— It is almost amusing! His lordship 
knows just how long it takes him to get from 
one room to another. He will time himself ex- 
actly and never lose a minute. 
FRANCIS— (Down L.C.) Oh, I do wish I were not 

so nervous ! 
MONSIG: — (Rises) My dear boy, he will lead you 
along without your suspecting it. I don't know 
a man on earth who can be so delightful with 
young people as your uncle. He has kept that 
freshness of feeling which is rare enough in youth 
nowadays. 

(Brother Hilary opens the double doors at 
the back of the stage. The cloisters can be 
seen beyond, down which the Bishop is slowly 
pacing. The cloisters are overgrown with 
rose vines and flooded with sunlight. A little 
grass plot is in the square formed by the 
cloisters. The Bishop is in his purple cassock 
and wears a biretta. He enters slowly, carry- 
ing an open book and repeating his office in 



8 

a low tone. He advances quietly down the 

stage and does not close his book till he 

finds himself facing Francis. 

Hilary goes out, closing the double doors 

behind him. As Bishop enters Monsig : drops 

down R. ) 
BISHOP— It is a most extraordinary thing, but 
although I have a good many reasons to feel 
anxious about the roof, and the new aisles, I 
have the feeling that we shall get the money and 
the poor Brothers will be in beautiful quarters 
before Christmas. I had that feeling — it came to 
me five minutes ago. I cannot get rid of it. I 
waved it aside as a fancy— an over-sanguine 
fancy — yet, it remains. 
FEAN CIS— (Going forward and kissing the ring 
respectf uU}^ ) That roof has been a great trouble 
to you, uncle. 
BISHOP — Well, you see, we have tried a couple of 
bazaars — they did— 

( Monsig : coughs ) 
pretty well. But the expenses were enormous. I 
forget what we made altogether, but I know it 
did not come anywhere near the roof. Then we 
put this little printing press, (looks round the 
room) and it seemed such a good way of en- 
couraging the purchase of useful literature and 
paying off the builder — There again we had 
encouragement. 

(He turns to Monsignor Campden) 
MONSIG:— And then the fresco. 
BISHOP— Ah, I mustn't forget the fresco. We dis- 
covered it a year ago at the back of the pulpit. 
(Points up) Some people think it is a genuine 
Da Yinci. "The Temptation of St. Anthony" 
( Curtain Bus : ) St. Anthony, I regret to say, 
has been sadly effaced by time, but the Tempta- 
tion is clear (Standing C. by table), very clear. 
No doubt this interesting work of art has at- 
tracted many visitors. We don't make any 



9 

charge, but we expect them to buy a little book, 
or one of these medals which we have had struck 
off. 

(He lifts up some from a tray) 
Who was it made a good suggestion the other 
day about liqueurs — a local liqueur? But what 
we want more than anything else is a miracle. 
(Sees the watches on the table) But dear me, 
what are these watches? 

MONSIG : — (Trying to keep serious — in front of 
table.) They don't seem to be keeping satis- 
factory time, my lord. 

BISHOP — How is that? I pulled them all to pieces 
with the greatest care, and readjusted them. 
What a strange thing ! I assure you, if I tested 
that mainspring once, I tested it twenty times to 
make sure it was all right. It will end in my 
getting a new one. 

( Monsig : moves away ) 
This belongs to the poor old Mere Druet, doesn't 
it? 

MONSIG : — ( Comes up to table again) Ah, my 
lord, I always know when you undertake to 
mend the mainsprings that it means a certain 
loss to the treasury of 

BISHOP— (Interrupting) It's never more than 
seventy francs. ( Anxious to change the subject ) 
What is that— the post? 

MONSIG: — Yes, my lord, it was brought down by 
someone who left Paris by a special train. 

BISHOP— Uncommonly obliging. Anything of im- 
portance? 

MONSIG: — I have not looked at it yet, my lord. I 
was just about to do so. 

BISHOP — Well, well, take them to my room, while 
Francis and I have a little chat. 

( Monsig : Campden takes up the packet and 
goes out of the room, door B., leaving the 
Bishop and his nephew alone. The boy looks 
embarrassed, goes round to R. at back. 



10 

The Bishop tries to appear entirely at ease 
but it is plain to the audience that he is 
anxious about the boy) 

BISHOP— (Looking- up at window mended with can- 
vas) I want your advice, Francis. 

FRANCIS— (Starting) Mine? 

BISHOP— Yes, when I have the money to mend that 
window, I am going to have coloured glass. 
Now what color would you choose? (At table) 

FRANCIS— (At once) Blue. A lovely turquoise 
blue — or rather, a blue that is more — sapphire 
than turquoise — (He looks intently into the 
distance ) 

BISHOP— (thoughtfully) Ah, a sort of sapphire, 
turquoise blue. Is that your favourite colour? 

FRANCIS— (Seh-consciously) Oh no, it was the 
first I thought of. 

BISHOP— (Rubbing his chin) Hum. My mother, I 
remember, had blue eyes, very beautiful calm 
blue eyes. 

FRANCIS— (Ingenuously) I think those are the 
most beautiful kind to have. 

BISHOP — (Looking at him carefully) Yes, no 
doubt. (Sits) Well now, my boy, how does 
this place strike you? You have been with 
Father Helyot three weeks. I have carefully 
avoided you, because I thought that better. I 
wanted you to learn your own heart without 
any interference from older people. Your mother 
hasn't written to you and she hasn't been once 
to see you, I hope? 

FRANCIS— No, I have been entirely by myself. (R. 
below table) 

BISHOP— I am glad she kept her word. It must 
have been a temptation for her when she was so 
near. Now, what conclusion have you come to? 

FRANCIS— Well, I don't seem to know what I want. 
( Crosses L. ) I was very happy at the monas- 
tery — in fact I was happier each day than the 
one before. 



11 

BISHOP— Getting near the end of your time, eh? 
FRANCIS— Well, the last days were certainly pleas- 

anter than the early ones. It is a little shut in. 
(Looks round the walls apprehensively) 
BISHOP — The idea came to you sometimes that you 

would like to see what was going on outside? 

You remembered Paris, the parties, the com- 
panions of your own age? 
FRANCIS— Yes. (Goes to Bishop C.) 
BISHOP — You have not told me whom you met in 

Paris besides your mother and her friends, 
FRANCIS — Well, there were some of the fellows from 

Beaumont. Some of them had sisters. 
BISHOP— ( Apparently not interested ) Naturally. 
FRANCIS — And there was Barbara of course. 
BISHOP— Barbara who? 
FRANCIS— Barbara Arreton. 
BISHOP — Ah yes — (Rises — crosses to printing press. 

Francis crosses below table at same time) a nice 

girl, I believe. 
FRAN CIS— ( Heartily ) Very nice. 
BISHOP — (Unconcerned, turning over printing) Is 

she at all like her father, Colonel Arreton, the 

regular Saxon type? 
FRANCIS— No, she is dark— sort of gypsy. 
BISHOP — Ah, indeed— and any one else? 
FRANCIS— Well, we used to see a good deal of the 

Duchess of Quenten. 
BISHOP— (Lifting his eyebrows) To be sure— She 

has been a widow now for five years. 
FRANCIS— Now she is a saxon type, if you 

like. 
BISHOP— (Carelessly) Golden hair and blue eyes, 

you mean? 

(His eye wanders toward the window that 
has to be mended) 
FRANCIS— Although she has lived so much in 

France and married a Frenchman, she is as 

English as I am, and you can be when you 

choose. ( Moves to C. ) 



12 

BISHOP — No doubt she was very kind to all of you. 

(to L. of Francis, brings type) 
FRANCIS— Yes, she was. 

(There is a little pause) 
BISHOP — Well, I am a little nervous, do you know, 
(Crosses R. ) about my post. I will just go in 
and speak to Campden a minute. So you want 
a sapphire-blue window — 

(He goes out and Francis is left looking 
after him) 
FRANCIS — I always wonder how much he knows. 
(Remains by L. of table, looks up at window) 
He is so easy to talk to and yet — 

( He takes up the office book from the table 
and, looking at the fly-leaf reads) 
Ambrose Philip Rias, 1865. Wliy, he has had 
this ever since he was my age (Puts down book) 
but we are not all born alike I'll — (crosses L. ) 
just see where my thumb comes — (Comes back 
and takes up book. He opens the book at ran- 
dom) Oh! (reads) "Thy wife shall be as a 
fruitful vine on the sides of thine house; Thy 
children like olive plants round about thy table." 
I say — that's a sign, of course ! I can't be happy 
here ! ( Crosses L. ) 

(He puts the book down and walks away, 
then returns evidently with the intention of 
trying again, when at that moment the 
Duchess of Quenten appears in the pulpit in 
the wall, up R. ) 
DUCHESS— (as though she were preaching) Oh, 

my brother — 
FRANCIS— ( starting ) Duchess ! 
DUCHESS— (Continuing) Oh, my brother, I want 
to impress upon you that the world has nothing 
to offer which can compare with the peace and 
beauty of this scene. I want you — 
FRANCIS— Oh, you mustn't. You mustn't make 

fun. How did you get there? 
DUCHESS — (Laughing) Is this a respectful way to 



13 

address a saint? Fancy asking a saint how she 
got there ! 

FRANCIS— You mustn't! That hasn't been used 
for years. 

DUCHESS— It is a fancy of mine. I want to pre- 
tend that this is a balcony and that you are a 
very young, extremely handsome — we are only 
pretending, mind — romantic and high-spirited, 
reckless — I don't know any more words, but that 
is what you are, and now you are to tell me 
what I am. 

FRANCIS — I think that you ought to come down, 
(goes right up to balcony) 

DUCHESS— I will come down in a minute. You 
don't seem at all pleased to see me. 

FRANCIS— I dare not believe that it is true. (Be- 
low balcony. ) 

DUCHESS— Well, I heard that your mother had sent 
you away with Father Helyot for a long retreat. 
She thought it would be good for you, and I 
heard that when the three weeks were over you 
were to decide on your choice of a vocation. I 
said to myself, "I think I will help him to de- 
cide." The good Bishop is the greatest help, no 
doubt, but bishops have principles, whereas 
women have instincts ! I took the trouble to 
come all this way to see an extremely un- 
grateful, very depressed, rather pompous little 
boy. 

FRANCIS— You don't seem real up there. I want 
you to come down. 

DUCHESS — Where is your uncle? I worship your 
uncle. 

FRANCIS— He will be back in a minute. 

DUCHESS— (Hastily) Then I will come down. 

( She disappears from the pulpit and Francis 
takes up the pewter inkstand and tries to see 
his hair in it. He walks towards the door of 
the inner room to see if it is quite closed, 
then goes to meet the Duchess as she enters 



14 

C. She gives him her hand which he kisses 
and keeps. They come down C. ) 

FRANCIS— You are an angel ! 

DUCHESS— I was only a saint before; evidently I 
am on promotion. 

FRANCIS— No, no— don't laugh. I am serious. I 
cannot believe you came all this way because 
you knew I was wretched. 

DUCHESS — Have you been wretched? Let me look 
at you. ( She peers into his face. ) Why, so you 
are ! You look too good to live ! It is un- 
natural. Oh, Francis, I was so lonely after you 
left Paris. I went out to three different things 
every night. I danced till two in the morning. 
I knew I could have a good rest during Lent. I 
went to all the theatres — yes, and I attended 
a lot of lectures— lectures on all sorts of things 
but I kept thinking of you. 

FRANCIS— You pity me, that is all. 

DUCHESS— But it is so interesting to have some- 
body to pity, and I pitied you so much that my 
complexion literally went. (She takes him by 
the arm, which fills him with embarrassment, 
and paces the stage with him in a half maternal 
and confidential manner ) My maid said it was 
the result of late hours, but I knew it was sym- 
pathy, and here I am ! I want you to tell me 
all you have been through. 

FRANCIS — I cannot remember anything; I feel a 
perfect fool. I want simply to stand here and 
look at you. (in front of table) 

DUCHESS — I suppose you haven't seen a,ny woman 
at all for ages. (C. ) 

FRANCIS— If I had it wouldn't have made any dif- 
ference. I have had one face always before me — 
any others I think would have been in the 
way. 

DUCHESS-( Thoughtfully) I don't think you 
would have said that in Paris. On the whole I 
am in favour of long meditations. I believe they 



15 

are very wholesome. ( Takes his arm, goes L. ) 
They make one appreciate one's friends. 

FRANCIS— (With feehng) But I am in earnest. I 
know now where my vocation is. I didn't know 
when I was talking to my uncle. 

DUCHESS— Yes, I thought I could do better than 
the Bishop ! Francis — may I call you Francis ? 
I want you to call me Alice. 

FRANCIS— That sounds so familiar. But it is my 
favourite name. 

DUCHESS— (thoughtfully) And how will you re- 
gard me? As a sister — (pause) (he clears his 
throat ) as a friend — ( he sighs heavily ) No ! I 
think I'll just be Alice. 

FRANCIS— I've only got one fear. I know I shall 
bore you, when you know me better. 

DUCHESS-Oh, never! 

FRANCIS— I wish I could feel perfectly sure of that. 
( standing L. ) 

DUCHESS— (earnestly) You must believe it. You 
must believe it, dear. You see, I have had a lot 
of trouble in my life — not the sort of trouble 
which people see and understand, but the kind 
which they do not see and can never under- 
stand. 

FRANCIS— Was it to do with love? 

DUCHESS— No— (looking at him ) not love. Wliy is 
it that if a woman speaks of trouble she is sup- 
posed to mean love, and when a man speaks of 
trouble he means something about money? 

FRANCIS— Then what was your trouble? (sud- 
denly) Ah, it was the loss of your husband ! 

DUCHESS— (Drily) I wish I could say so. But we 
were intimate strangers, he and I. I knew that 
he cared for nothing except copper mines, and he 
thought I cared for nothing at all ! He could 
not see that I dared not care, that I had been 
taught to see that there was only danger— for 
me— in caring. I was a live creature shut up in 
a mummy case (lowering her voice) I need not 



16 

be in the case any more. I may come out now. 
I think I will. 
FEAN CIS— (Naively) I feel a sort of tortoise my- 
self. (Looks around the walls) How I wish 
we could be quite alone together in some 
star — I could talk then and tell you — 
DUCHESS— Now tell me all about— 

( At this moment Monsignor Campden enters 
and stands aghast in the doorway with his 
hands up. Francis is very much embar- 
rassed, while the Duchess remains unmoved 
and holds him firmly by the arm) 
Ah, Monsignor Campden, didn't they tell 
you I was here? 
MONSIG: — (advancing) No, I did hear that you 
had come by a special train from Paris, but who 
let you in? 
DUCHESS— Well, to tell the truth, I came for some 
news of this boy. I never hoped to see him here. 
I understood he was with Father Helyot still. 
But, while I was waiting to see you or the 
Bishop I went to have a look at the Fresco. I 
peeped over that little pulpit — and lo and be- 
hold ! there stood the iDoy. And how is the 
Bishop? 
MONSIG : — ( drily ) His lordship will be delighted to 

see you. 
DUCHESS-H'm ! 

MONSIG:— He is detained for a moment with the 
builder. I am sure you won't mind if he keeps 
you waiting a little. 
DUCHESS-Is it still the roof? 
MONSIG : —Yes, perhaps you would like to see it. 
DUCHESS— (expectantly) Eh? 
MONSIG:— Or rather where it ought to be? 
DUCHESS— I should be delighted. Come along, 
Francis. 

(As they are leaving the room, Brother 
Martin enters with Mrs. Hericourt and Bar- 



17 

bara Arreton. He shows them in and goes 
out. Mrs. Hericourt is an aristocratic 
woman of simple manners and should mould 
herself a little on the Bishop's pattern, in 
order to show some family resemblance. She 
must, above all, avoid the traditional stage 
accent of the stage dowager. Barbara Arre- 
ton must be a very pretty girl with delicate 
features and an air of common sense. She 
must be perfectly free of affectation and the 
usual tricks of the ingenye) 
FRANCIS— Mother ! Barbara ! 
MRS. H: — (aghast) My dear Duchess! 
DUCHESS— Dearest Mrs. Hericourt ! I was just go- 
ing to see you. Do you like your hotel? 
MRS. H: — (melting a little) I don't think it would 
suit you ! One of your boxes, my dear, would 
fill two of the rooms. When did you 
arrive? 
DUCHESS— I had to have a special — a nasty dirty 
old special ! But I had made up my mind to be 
here to-day. I have taken a chateau in the 
neighbourhood— a beautiful old place with ghosts 
and electric light and bath rooms. You have all 
got to come over, everyone of you, every- 
one ! 

MRS. H:— But really 

DUCHESS— I insist. You and Barbara— Barbara 

will love it — and Francis, of course. 
FRANCIS— (Who has been looking at Barbara dur- 
ing the foregoing speech) No — no! (he walks 
away a little) 
DUCHESS— (disappointed) No? But you must 
come. You can have a study with a lovely view 
over the river : no one shall disturb you. 
FRANCIS— (Firmly) No. 
DUCHESS— (Puzzled, then breaks into a smile and 

turns to Mrs. H : ) Isn't he moody? 
MONSIG:— Will you come now and see the roof be- 
fore the Bishop comes back? 
2 



18 

DUCHESS— Oh yes, the roof. (She waits to see if 
Francis is coming) 

MONSIG: — ( Noticing his hesitation) You had bet- 
ter come, Frank, because it is rather rough 
walking, and we may have to move some of the 
planks. 

( They go out, and Mrs. H : and Barbara 
look at each other) 

MRS. H: — (Looking after the Duchess) What a 
fascinating creature ! I get angry every time I 
think of her, and the moment I see her I am as 
limp as a rag. She can twist anybody round her 
little finger. 

BARBARA — I suppose she can. 

MRS. H : — ( In a warning tone) She couldn't do it, 
mind you, unless she were good. There are 
women who can twist certain people round their 
fingers, but when you find one who can manage 
saints and sinners alike, she must be good. It is 
very brilliant goodness, I admit, but it is irre- 
sistible — I wish all the same she was not so 
brilliant with poor Francis. 

BARBARA— He can't help being flattered. She is so 
charming, and then— her position. 

MRS. H : — But she won't have a penny of money if 
she marries again. You know her husband was 
not a martyr, but a Tartar ! The day she mar- 
ries again, her whole fortune goes to the Church. 
Some ridiculous fraction— two or three hundred a 
year — will save her from absolute penury. 

BARBARA— Then if it all goes to the Church, the 
Church will be very eager for her to marry 
again. 

MRS. H:— Eager is not the word, my dear child, 
desirous is the proper expression ! 

( At this moment the builder opens the door 
and looks in from the inner room) 

BUILDER— Yes, my lord, there are two ladies here. 
(He withdraws) 

BISHOP— (within) Is that you, Catherine? 



19 

MRS. H:— Yes, dear Ambrose, but don't let us 
hurry you in any way. 

(The Bishop comes in with a green baize 
apron over his cassock and his sleeves rolled 
back a little from the wrist. One hand is 
covered with printers' ink) 

BISHOP— My dear, I am hard at work, you see. I 
am trying to set some type. It is the story of 
Balaam, and I want to encourage the natives 
here in this little industry. I leave the door 
open and they see me toiling aw^ay at my task. 
Well, how are you? I can work here while I am 
talking, in fact— but who is this? (Looks at 
Barbara) 

MRS. H : — It is Barbara Arreton. 

(Barbara bows and kisses his ring) 

BISHOP — So it is ! How she has grown up ! 
(Looking at his sister) I can see she is sur- 
prised that I speak English so well. But you see 
my mother was English and I lived in England 
until I was twenty. Your father and I have had 
many a game of cricket together in old days. 

MRS. H:— Could any of the lay Brothers show her 
some of the ruins while we have a short talk. 

BISHOP— Certainly, certainly! (calls) Brother 
Hilary ! 

(Brother Hilary comes in) 
Will you show Miss Arreton the Abbey? 
(The Brother and Barbara go out) 
The fact is, Catherine, I have been greatly de- 
lighted by a piece of news. 

MRS. H:-What news? 

BISHOP— The most amazing thing, I have had 
cruel moments of anxiety as you know, about 
the roof and the restorations generally. I want 
the old ruin to blossom like the rose— that is my 
dream. 

MRS. H:-Yes, yes. 

BISHOP— Well, all this morning I had a lighter feel- 
ing on the subject. I was only saying to Camp- 



20 

den that I felt something unusual in the air. 
My dear, by a strange coincidence, a letter has 
come from Paris telling me that beyond any 
question the Duchess of Quenten has made up 
her mind at last to re-marry. Just think what 
that means to the diocese — little less than her 
whole fortune ! 

MRS. H: — Re-marry — but whom? 

BISHOP — Ah, there my informant is mysteriously 
silent, but he says — although she has refused 
every offer with such decision that most of us 
had come to believe that she would remain a 
widow to the end of her days — he says she has 
practically announced to my correspondent her 
intention of re-marrying. Oh, the relief of this 
unexpected windfall ! But I must talk of your 
affairs. I suppose you want to know about the 
boy? 

MRS. 'H : — Yes, I do. Has he been able to come to 
any sort of decision about his future career? I 
should be happy, of course, if he chose the 
Church, but in the event — 

BISHOP — I sounded him this morning. A more 
charming boy never lived nor a better one I 
feel sure — (he hesitates) — but — 

MRS. H:— It is quite as I thought. Well, you saw 
Barbara Arreton, what do you think of her? 

BISHOP— I scarcely saw her. 

MRS. H : — Well, she is my ideal wife for Francis. 

BISHOP — Ah, 3^ou are a true woman, Catherine ! 
You come to know what he has chosen, and you 
bring his future wife in your pocket ! 

MRS. H : — Surely, Ambrose, you must see that two 
Christians are better than one, especially as life 
goes at present. I think we need more Christian 
families in the Church. 

BISHOP — Oh, I don't say you are wrong. I merely 
point out that you make your prophecies come 
ot pass by strictly legitimate means ! 

MRS. H : — Although I may sound worldly, you will 



21 

believe me when I say that I am convinced of the 
great affection which existed between these young 
people. 

BISHOP— Then why did you send him here? 

MRS. H:— Well, it was to get him away from the 
Diiolipss 

BISHOP— The blue-eyed Duchess ! 

MRS. H: — Yes, she turned his head. A very easy 
thing to do with a boy. 

BISHOP— Hum, but she is a good creature and an 
excellent woman. 

MRS. H: — Just so, but she was amusing herself at 
the boy's expense. Is it likely that she could 
care for him in any serious way? Now, Barbara 
would be his devoted slave. 

BISHOP— And yet you are one of those, Catherine, 
who clamour for Woman's Suffrage and her 
rights ! You recommend your future daughter- 
in-law on the ground that she would be a slave ! 

MRS. H : —I am thinking of my son's happiness, and 
no man is happy unless his wife is a slave. 

BISHOP — That sounds like a quotation from one of 
my Wednesday afternoon addresses. It is very 
seldom a man, a man of ideas, has the privilege 
of influencing his own family ! 

MRS. H : —But what is more important than all is 
Frank's devotion to Barbara. 

IBISHOP— (In mock earnest) Wliat about this de- 
votion to the Duchess? You have sent me a 
promising novice, I must say ! It is too bad, 
really ! 

)MRS. H: — His interest in the Duchess is a passing 

, caprice. 

IBISHOP— I must see them together. 

i^MRS. H : —Well, that won't be difficult. The Duchess 
is here now in this very place. 

IBISHOP- And they never told me ! That is very 
wrong. Catherine, she is one of my favourites, 
I have watched her career with positive admira- 
tion. I admit she is not lugubrious; I myself 



22 

distrust lugubrious widows ! She is bright, ani- 
mated, joyous — what could be more natural at 
her age? (suddenly) Why, the idea strikes me, 
could it be— can it be that Francis has captured 
her heart — that he is the young man for whom 
she is willing to sacrifice a large fortune. 

MRS. H : —Sincerely, I hope not. 

BISHOP — It doesn't seem suitable, although I see 
nothing against it, except a trifling difference in 
ages. She can't be more than three years older 
than Francis. 

MRS. H:— Oh, my dear, are they suitable in any 
way? Imagine that woman of the world with 
Francis ! 

BISHOP— (Troubled) He is not half good enough 
for her — Don't be hurt, Catherine. I don't mean 
good in the moral sense, but the man I have 
always pictured for her was of a remarkable 
type. 

MRS. H:— Just so, and I have always been so 
thankful that dear Francis is not remark- 
able. 

BISHOP— But if she loves him, I couldn't be ex- 
pected to discourage it. 

MRS. H:— But I tell you, there is Barbara. 

BISHOP— Oh, how I detest these love complications ! 
I must judge for myself. 

(The Duchess's laughter is heard outside) 

BISHOP— Ah, here she comes ! I do hope there will 
be laughter in Heaven ! Wliat is it but a form of 
rejoicing? 

(The Duchess enters followed by Francis, 
Barbara and Monsig : Campden. The Duch- 
ess advances and kneeling, kisses the Bish- 
op's ring) 
Well, my child, my dear and good Duchess, I am 
very pleased to see you, very pleased. 

DUCHESS— (Still kneeling and holding up her hands 
as if making a petition ) I am like most people 
when they pray ; I ask a blessing, but I want a 



23 

favour. You may regard me, if you please, as a 
humble follower of the importunate widow. 

BISHOP— Well, my child, what is it? 

DUCHESS — I want you to come and bring good 
luck to the Chateau I have taken in this neigh- 
bourhood. 

BISHOP — But, of course, I will come — you know I 
have not much time — j^et for a day or two — 

DUCHESS — And Mrs. Hericourt is to come, and 
Barbara and Francis. 

BISHOP— (Looking at the three) I don't know 
about Francis; he must decide for himself. 
(He helps Duchess to rise) 

FRANCIS — (embarrassed) It is very kind of you, 
but I feel I ought to settle down to work. 

BARBARA— (Going up to him quietly) Oh, do 
come ! You look tired, no, do come. 

BISHOP — ( Turning to the Duchess after looking at 
the boy ) I think we may say that Francis will 
come. 

( Barbara and Francis move a little away to 
the back of the stage. Monsig : Campden 
and Mrs. Hericourt walk away together talk- 
ing. The Duchess and the Bishop are left 
looking at each other) 

DUCHESS — Why does your lordship look at me so 
curiously? I have no secrets. 

BISHOP — Does not that assurance, which ought to 
be unnecessary, come from a disquieted con- 
science, which I am sure could never be in the 
wrong? You have been very kind to my nephew. 

DUCHESS— Did he tell you so? 

BISHOP— Yes. 

DUCHESS — Do you think he was born to be an 
ecclesiastic? 

BISHOP— I don't know 3^et. 

DUCHESS — I am sure he was not. 

BISHOP — You see, my mind works more slowly than 
3"ours — I have to observe and consider — 

DUCHESS— Well, what have you observed so far? 



24 

BISHOP — Well, so far, I see nothing except a young 
man — a young girl — and one of the most charm- 
ing women in France ! 

DUCHESS-Anything else? 

BISHOP — Yes, on the other hand, there is a great 
vocation — 

DUCHESS— (quickly) But a lonely life! 

BISHOP — (looking round the room with a smile and 
waving towards the printing press) Do you 
think one could be lonely when there is so much 
work to be done? 

DUCHESS— (clasping her hands) Oh, Francis is 
not for you, he is for the world ! He is good, 
but he is for the world. Can't you see that in 
his face? 

(At this moment the Duchess looks round 
and sees that Francis is looking earnestly at 
Barbara. The Duchess bites her lip) 

BISHOP — (repeating) As I have told you, I can 
only see a young man — a young girl, and per- 
haps, the most charming woman in France ! 

CURTAIN. 

END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



25 



ACT II. 

SCENE :— The Drawing-room of the Chateau 
de Ranee. A handsome apartment with win- 
dows opening on to a terrace with a belvedere 
at the back of the stage. One door only at 
the side : a large organ is built into the 
other side of the room. There must be the 
air of an old place slightly modernized. A 
gardener is standing on a ladder, which is 
held by a small boy, hanging up festoons of 
flowers. A Housekeeper stands near him 
giving directions and help. Four men with 
stringed instruments are at the back. Bar- 
bara and Francis are playing chess at a card 
table near the front. As the curtain rises, 
the musicians play the concluding bars oi 
some popular air. 
FRANCIS— (to the Musicians, who rise) Quelle jolie 

piece ! Merci beaucoup. C'etait charmante ! 
MUSIC— Nous esperons que Madame la Duchesse 

sera contente avec nos humbles efforts. 
BARBARA— Enchantee, j'en suis sur. 

(The Musicians bow% and the Housekeeper 
comes down) 
HOUSE:— Do you think the flowers will do. Miss, 
like that? I don't care for the French taste my- 
self, but her Grace always likes to please the 
common people when she has them in. They 
like everything gaudy. 
BARBARA— I think it looks charming, but won't 

they wither before to-morrow? 
HOUSE:— Oh, no, Miss, the French are artful, their 
flowers are made of paper and cotton. They will 
introduce a few real roses here and there just be- 
fore the entertainment begins. I suppose I must 
go and give these good men some refreshment. 



26 

(grandly, turning to the men) Voyong, par 

ici ! 

(Housekeeper goes out, followed by the Musi- 
cians, but the gardener continues his work at 
the back while Barbara and Francis talk) 
FRANCIS — It was not so bad. Now— is it your 

move? 
BARBARA — You are not paying much attention to 

the game, Francis. 
FRANCIS— I am not thinking of the game. I was 

killing time. I wish that man would go away. 

We never get any chance to talk alone. 
BARBARA— I often wonder what we should say if we 

were by ourselves. 

(The Gardener gets down from the ladder 
and he and the boy go further back, out of 
sight, evidently to fetch something, for they 
leave the ladder and other things behind 
them ) 
BARBARA — (looking round) We are alone now, 

Frank, if there is anything very special you 

wanted to ask me. 
FRANCIS— Have 3^ou been happy here? 
BARBARA — (hesitating) You see it has been a 

long visit, nearly three weeks, and I don't think 

there is much fun ever for those who look 

on. 
FRANCIS— Wliat do you mean? 
BARBARA — I say, I don't think it is very amusing 

to watch people that one likes, talking to people 

whom they like ! 
FRANCIS— (conscience-stricken) You haven't felt 

out of it, have you? 
BARBARA — Well, what happens is this ; you are al- 
ways with the Duchess, and I am generally with 

your mother. Of course I am devoted to your 

dear mother, but I daresay she gets a little 

tired of me. 
FRANCIS— You don't understand. One must pay 

attention to one's hostess, particularly if there 



27 

happens to be no other man in the party. It is 
common courtesy. 

BARBARA — Quite so, and then, when you have to 
show common courtesy to such an uncommonly 
beautiful person, life does not look so hard as it 
might ! 

FRANCIS— You couldn't expect me not to like her, 
could you? You couldn't expect me not to feel 
grateful for all her kindness? She rescued me 
from my uncle. My uncle is a great and good 
man, I know — 

BARBARA— I tell you, I understand. I am not say- 
ing a word. I could almost love her myself for 
all her kindness to you. I should be hard and 
no friend of yours, if I did not see that you were 
very fond of each other. I can be quite fair 
about it, indeed. If I didn't like her so much 
myself, I don't think I could stop here, because 
I can't help seeing — (stifles a sob) 

FRANCIS— Wliy, what is the matter? 

BARBARA— Nothing— nothing at all. 

(The Duchess's voice is heard outside) 

DUCHESS— (outside) Are they in the drawing- 
room? 

(Francis clasps his hands when they hear 
her coming, hesitates between Barbara and 
going to meet the Duchess. Barbara begins 
to move the chessmen about, and the Duch- 
ess enters. She wears a lace gown and a 
garden hat and carries a parasol. She looks 
in radiant health and spirits) 

DUCHESS— Oh, there you are! (looks from one 
to the other) I must have all these garlands 
taken down. The Bishop is unavoidably de- 
tained, and he cannot come until next week. 

BARBARA— Oh, how disappointing ! 

DUCHESS— (cheerfully) Yes, it is disappointing, 
but after all, it is only a postponement. How 
did the rehearsal go? I heard a dreadful squeak- 
ing in the next room, but one must encourage 



28 

local talent. The Bishop insists on that, and 
these poor darlings have been practising hard 
for the last three weeks in order to please him. 

FRANCIS— (thoughtfully) Does he say why he 
doesn't come? 

DUCHESS— No, because I heard the news indirectly. 
I am expecting his own letter every moment, 
but I was out driving and met Monsignor Camp- 
den taking his constitutional. He prepared me 
for the disappointment. 

BARBARA— Oh, how sorry I am he can't come ! 

DUCHESS— (with gaiety) Well, after all, we are a 
very happy party, and I don't care who it is 
that joins a quartette — things are never quite 
the same again ! There is too much bass, or too 
much treble ! Of course, the Bishop is of all 
guests imaginable the most perfect, so perfect, 
that you see he might lead me to neglect the 
others ! I should be torn this way and that. 
Besides, you will all have to stop longer. Every- 
thing has turned out for the best ! ( She looks 
at Barbara) Have you two been playing chess? 

BARBARA— I have been playing chess. ( The Duch- 
ess laughs) Frank, I think, was meditating. 

DUCHESS— Why was Frank absent-minded? 

BARBARA — ( looking a little crest-fallen ) I am afraid 
he was bored. 

DUCHESS — Poor boy ! I am never bored ! Now, 
what shall we do this afternoon? We had in- 
tended to rehearse our Gavotte. Play it Bar- 
bara. 

( Barbara goes reluctantly to piano — an old 
fashioned one. Plays a suitable piece. Duch- 
ess and Francis laughing do a few steps. 
Duchess sits down) 
But inasmuch as the rehearsal is stopped and 
the decorations are interfered with, why shouldn't 
we fish? Will you come fishing with me, Frank? 

FRANCIS— With pleasure. 

DUCHESS— (lightly) And you, Barbara, might go 



29 

for a drive with dear Mrs. Hericourt. There is a 
sick woman down in the village, and you may 
have my own, my very own Russian ponies and 
drive them yourself. You would love that, I 
know. 

FRANCIS— (conciliatory) Yes, you will love that, 
won't you, Barbara? (to the Duchess) She is 
a splendid whip, although you wouldn't think it 
to look at her, she has got such little hands. 

DUCHESS— Ah, I have seen her driving, or I woulda't 
trust her with my ponies. Then that is all set- 
tled. It is a lovely drive, quite a new direction. 
If you start at half-past three, you can easily 
be back by a quarter to seven. 

(Barbara is about to make a reply when 
Mrs. Hericourt enters rather suddenly) 

MRS. H:— Oh, I have been looking everywhere for 
you, my dear Alice. 

DUCHESS— (innocently) Have you, darling? I 
have made all the arrangements for this after- 
noon. Barbara will tell you. It is so fine — I 
grudge every minute indoors. 

MRS. H:-Yes, but— 

DUCHESS— (putting her hands to her ears) If I 
talk any more I shall die ! I have been with my 
agent for hours. I want to sit in the sun. Frank 
and I are going fishing. 

MRS. H:— Yes, but I have got— 

DUCHESS— (by this time half-way out of the room) 
Tell me at dinner. Keep all topics till dinner ! 
(Kisses her hand to Mrs. Hericourt and 
exits, followed by Francis) 

MRS. H :— Now, in any other woman that would be 
rude— it really would ! The fact is I was trying 
to tell her that my brother has arrived. He 
had no idea that he wasn't expected. 

BARBARA— The Bishop arrived ! 

MRS. H : —He is quite annoyed with Monsignor 
Campden. He says he had every intention of 
coming. Ambrose is the last man on earth to 



30 

stand on ceremony, but he may think it rather 
strange to find no one to receive him. 

BARBARA — Oh, I am so thankful that he has come, 
(eagerly) Shall I go after them and stop them? 
(goes half-way across the room) 

MRS. H: — No, my dear, that won't look well. I 

will go myself. But what an erratic creature it is ! 

( She goes out, leaving Barbara in the centre 

of the stage. The door opens and the Bishop 

enters by himself) 

BISHOP — (looking all round) Is nobody at home? 

BARBARA — (going forward and kissing his ring) 
Oh, my lord, we all heard that you were not 
coming. 

BISHOP— (drily) So I understand, but I got 
through my business quicker than some of them 
expected. It is such an art to be able to cut 
things short! (comes down still looking about 
him in some surprise. He sees the table with the 
chessboard ) Ah, there seems to be a neat prob- 
lem here. You have got your Queen in a good 
position. 

BARBARA — Not so good as the Bishop, my lord. 
I always like the Bishop's best. 

BISHOP— (pretending to be absorbed in game) 
May I move your Knight? The Knight is so 
uncertain, often.! — And how are you all getting 
on here? 

BARBARA — Some are getting on very well, your 
lordship. 

BISHOP— I am very glad to find you alone. We 
must become better acquainted. I knew your 
dear father very well. I want you to tell me 
a few things quite frankly, not about other 
people, not tales out of school — I just want to 
hear something about yourself. 

BARBARA — Will you be very shocked, I wonder, if 
I say that I don't want to live? 

BISHOP— (lifting his eyebrows) That is most 
reprehensible ! 



31 

BARBARA — I think I want to go into a convent for 
ever. I don't like the world any more. 

BISHOP— My dear child, you must not mistake 
disgust for this world for a great anxiety to 
reach the other. 

BARBARA — Nothing comes right. 

BISHOP — I think heaven will do as much for you 
as you will do for heaven! (in a kind tone) 
Now what is troubling you, some little quarrel? 

BARBARA — Oh, there is no quarrel, there is only 
despair ! 

BISHOP — Dear me ! (putting his hand on her shoul- 
der ) Is there anyone else concerned in this ? Is 
there another? 

BARBARA— Yes. 

BISHOP— Perhaps two others? 

BARBARA— Yes. (blurts out) She flirts with him— 
she doesn't care for him — she is just amusing her- 
self ! And when it is all over, she will forget 
him and he may not be able to forget her. She 
has made him give up one vocation, and what 
will she give him in return? 

BISHOP— She and he ! Now, if he means Francis, 
and she means the Duchess — and I suppose that 
is what you do mean — have you any reason to 
be so much concerned about either of them? 
Has Frank ever said anything to you? 

BARBARA — He once told me he loved me. 

BISHOP— Oh— I begin to understand— so he told 
you that? 

BARBARA— Yes, and he meant it, my lord, I know 
he meant it. 

BISHOP— And do you love him? 

BARBARA— He knows that I do. 

BISHOP— This is a great surprise to me. And when 
did Frank tell you that he loved you? 

BARBARA— In Paris, my lord. 

BISHOP— And has he said anything since? 

BARBARA— He has implied it. He wishes me to 
think so, but, just as we seem to be understand- 



32 

ing each other once more, the Duchess always 
comes in. 

BISHOP — I must warn you that she is a very dear 
friend of mine; and much as I Hke you, I 
am altogether prejudiced in her favour. Does 
she know that Frank loved you — or said 
so? 

BARBARA— She must have seen it. But Frank 
could never be so much to her as he is to me 
my lord. He means everything to me — I don't 
know why I have said so much — I wouldn't say 
it even to myself, but now that you are here, I 
feel that you understand. He means every- 
thing to me, whereas she (she looks round the 
room) would get tired of him in a few weeks. 

BISHOP— Now, what makes jou think that? 
Have you any right to say that her love is less 
constant than yours? If anyone is to blame, 
surely it is Frank. I am very sorry for you, 
my child, but the heart of youth is in its very 
nature fickle ! 

BARBARA — Oh, my lord, if I saw that she really 
cared for him, I could bear it all, but she does 
not. After six months, she wouldn't know what 
to say to him. 

BISHOP— (kindly) We mustn't get hard, and we 
mustn't be so confident in our judgments at 
nineteen ! We must be more patient perhaps a 
little more charitable ! But we mustn't have 
anyone unhappy. I will look into this. If Frank 
told you that he loved you, I believe he spoke 
the truth — at the time, anyhow. (He takes a 
medal hung on a little chain out of his pocket ) 
I will look into this, but in the meantime, my 
dear child, here is something which he lost the 
last time he came to see me. It is one of the 
medals we sell at the Abbey. The Temptation of 
St. Anthony, (hands it to her) Francis has 
scratched your name on it. 

BARBARA— Oh, has he, my lord? Now, when you 



33 

get an opportunity, but not yet, give it back to 
him — but keep it a little. 

(At this moment, the Duchess followed by 
Francis enters) 

DUCHESS — (trying to conceal her chagrin ) Oh, so 
you have come, and I was not there, to receive 
you ! It was not my fault. I saw Monsignor 
Campden, he is the culprit ! But I am so glad 
you have come. 

BISHOP — Are you really glad? Your words have a 

kindness which charms me, but there is just a 

little something in the tone, in the glance — 

( The Duchess drops her eyes. Francis comes 

f orw^ard rather sheepishly and kisses the ring. 

The Bishop looks at him) 

DUCHESS— It is nothing really. The fact is, I have 
been leading an almost unreal life lately. I am 
forgetting manners — I am forgetting how to 
talk. I think I know what people mean when 
they speak of being in the clouds ! 

BISHOP — Are you alone in the clouds? Are there 
no dialogues up there? And you, Francis, what 
have you been doing in the last fortnight? I 
thought you were coming down to see me. 

FRANCIS — (rather shame-faced) Well, sir, I have 
not been master of my time altogether — one has 
to fall in with the plans of the day. 

BISHOP — Just so. My own days, too, are very 
crowded. 

DUCHESS — You must not scold him, my lord. You 
know there is a time to laugh and a time to 
dance — 

BISHOP— But that is not all the time ! Now, what 
have you been doing, Barbara? Have you had 
to fall in with plans also? 

DUCHESS— (hastily) Dear little Barbara is indis- 
pensable ! She is the angel in the house ; no one 
was ever so clever or so kind. 

BISHOP— (putting his hands up) Oh,— what flat- 
tery ! 
3 



34 

DUCHESS— (impetuously) But I mean it. She 
plays to us in the evening ; she sings for us ; she 
drives the ponies ; she reads aloud — we take turns 
reading aloud. 

BISHOP— And when you two ladies are reading, 
what does Frank do? 

DUCHESS— Oh, he listens. 

BISHOP — I see— and how long is this to go on? 

DUCHESS— Now, you haven't come to scold us, 
have you? 

BISHOP— I am afraid I have. It is an ungrateful 
task, but I begin to suspect that this does not 
seem to be precisely a case of where — ' ' All work 
and no play makes Jack a dull boy.' But, 
before I forget it, Frank, I want you and Bar- 
bara to take a message into the village for me. 

DUCHESS— Frank and Barbara! But— the ser- 
vants — 

BISHOP — I wish Frank and Barbara to take it. 
They are to go to the Hospital and say that I 
shall hope to stop there on my way home — 
perhaps — this evening — 

DUCHESS— (relieved) Oh, must you go this even- 
ing? 

BISHOP— The walk will do them both good. 

(The Duchess hangs her head and the two 
young people go out. The Duchess paces 
the floor in some anger before she speaks) 

DUCHESS — I don't see why — I can't understand— 

BISHOP— Oh yes, you do ! The boy has been here 
now for three weeks; you don't seem to realise 
that you are trifling with him. The first week 
he called to see me twice — I noticed a great 
change in him. The second week he came when 
he knew I would be out, and hurried away, not 
waiting for my return. Then this last week he 
has not been near me. The moment I saw him 
to-day, I realised that you were playing with 
his soul. 

DUCHESS— I am not ! Oh, how you misjudge me ! 



35 

You know, my lord, how deeply I respect you, 
how I value your friendship, but you interfere 
— yes, you are interfering ! I don't believe you 
can understand how that boy's innocence and 
inexperience fascinate me. I have been in the 
world all my life. I have met only men and 
women of the world ; those who seem too good 
for it leave it as you have left it, but Francis is 
one of us although he is not like us. 

BISHOP— I want to ask you a question. When 
you first knew him, did he seem to you at all 
engrossed with Barbara? 

DUCHESS— (equivocating) She is an attractive 
little thing — and there were no other pretty girls 
in sight. 

BISHOP — But she isn't commonplace. 

DUCHESS — I always play fair. There was certainly 
no promise — no obligation, at least Francis never 
told me so. After all does one's record go for 
nothing? Have I ever been foolish? Have I 
ever made any other woman unhappy? Have 
I ever seemed to care at all what impression I 
made on any man? 

BISHOP— One at a time ! One question at a time. 
I have held you up frequently as a pattern — 
to say more would be paying compliments, the 
thing I never do. Yet I can imagine that Fran- 
cis, as you say, by his unlikeness to your other 
friends, might please and attract you, perhaps, 
beyond his deserts. Again, you may not have 
flirted, but you know there was the Baron — 

DUCHESS— Oh well, he was a very good judge of 
pictures. 

BISHOP— Hum ! And then there was that foreign 
Secretary — 

DUCHESS— A mere question of letter- writing ; one 
must have correspondents. 

BISHOP— To be sure! And then there was the 
Prince — and that young fellow who hunted — and 
the one that painted— and the one that wrote 



36 

music — and the one that distinguished himself 
in the war — all attractive individuals ! 

DUCHESS— Yes, yes. But not like this. I main- 
tain I did not flirt. 

BISHOP — Without implying that you flirted, I may 
remark that I hailed each one as the possible 
treasure you might regard as a superb equivalent 
for my roof — to say nothing of the new aisles ! 
But, do you find those qualities in Francis which 
could so enchain you that they would make 
you absolutely indifferent to all other men? 
Could you give up all this? Could you live in 
some quiet, unimportant way on that boy's own 
income of something under eight hundred a year? 
Eight hundred a year, my dear and beautiful 
young friend? 

DUCHESS— (aggrieved) Wliy think of all the ob- 
stacles and drawbacks? 

BISHOP— It is safer. The way to succeed in life 
depends on this ability to foresee and consider 
every difficulty in your path. 

DUCHESS— But why not drift a little? Of course 
it would be a sacrifice if I married him — but it 
seems indelicate to think of it. I haven't al- 
lowed mj'self to consider anything of the sort ! 

BISHOP— (firmly) Ah, you don't love him! He 
attracts you by his novelty, by his ingenuous- 
ness, but this is not love. 

DUCHESS — Oh, how can you say— I mean, forgive 
me, but this is a question that you cannot judge 
of. You renounced such things long ago. You 
have put them away out of your life. 

BISHOP— The philosopher Hume has said that, 
if we wish to understand any experiment, we 
ourselves must not be one of the factors ! I 
know, therefore, that I am right, when I say 
that on your side there is a caprice, and on his 
side there is only a boy's gratified vanity. 

DUCHESS— (bursting out) But you are arguing 
against yourself, my lord ! If I remarry, your 



37 

diocese will have all my fortune — Ihate myself for 
reminding you of this. 

BISHOP— I know that, and the diocese could make 
admirable use of the money. But I see 
no happiness in this matter. I can't allow it, 
I musnt't encourage it. When I oppose you, 
I find myself in the painful position of one who 
has to quarrel with his greatest benefactress,, 
but — faithful are the wounds of a friend. I can- 
not see three lives ruined for the sake of a diocese 
or because I shirk the disagreeable duty of giving 
true counsel to a kind and gentle lady who does 
not wish to hear it. 

DUCHESS— But I am in earnest. I began half in 
fun, I know, but now I am in earnest. 

BISHOP— I know better. I know many women who 
can only feel thoroughly in earnest under the 
stress of opposition ! Besides, how easy for you 
to beat that little girl from the field ! What 
chance has she against you unless you choose 
to let her win? The triumph in this case would 
be your surrender. Ah ! my child, I am very 
sorry, very disappointed, even— think of my 
roof — but — 

DUCHESS— (greatly agitated) My lord, I will not 
trust myself to reply. I may be disrespectful 
against my will— I will go into the garden. I 
think I must declare war ! I think I must say 
that we cannot remain friends — that I wish you 
had not come, that — that I am glad you cannot 
stay ! I think I must try to prove that I am 
in the right, and that you are in the wrong. 

BISHOP— I wish you could. 

(The Duchess goes out) 

BISHOP— (to himself) In six months' time she 
will be thanking me for my foresight. ( He walks 
about the room, picking up things ) I remember 
when I was about one and twenty, I saw 
someone at a croquet party. She did not speak, 
and I did not speak, but I saw her, and— if 



38 

any one had told me then that she was not more 
important to me than the entire globe, I think 
I should have thought him very cynical ! 

(He goes to the organ and begins to play. 
While he is playing, at the back, on the ter- 
race, Barbara and Francis are seen talking. 
The Bishop in the meantime, gets sleepy 
over his playing and sits back, his hand 
falling down by the side of his chair. Bar- 
bara runs in, looks round the room, and 
finally sees the Bishop. She creeps up to 
him, stoops, and gently kisses his ring, 
then runs out) 
BISHOP — (waking with a start and looking round) 
Have I reached this age in order to dream that 
someone came in and kissed my hand when I 
was asleep! (laughs at himself) 

(He plays a few bars as Mrs. Hericourt en- 
ters ) 
MRS. H: — My dear Ambrose, I haven't heard 3^ou 
play for ages, ^¥hat a treat it is ! Don't stop — 
and yet, I wonder whether I shall get such 
another opportunity^ to speak with you. 
BISHOP— (moves along the organ seat and looks 
at her intently ) You are not stiU worrying are 
you, about that young cub? 
MRS. H: — He is all I have, Ambrose. 
BISHOP— (softening) Yes, yes, my dear— most — 
natural. (He comes down and sits beside her 
on the sofa) 
MRS. H: — Surely, you can remember the dangers 
and difiiculties of a mind given over to ideals? 
That is Frank's trouble. You must see that it 
is hard in a Christian country to choose between 
two most attractive women. One's elders must 
come to the rescue in such a case. 
BISHOP — Come to the rescue ! I have been rescuing 
him now for the last three weeks ! The young 
beggar doesn't want to be rescued ! He is en- 
joying the position. He doesn't thank either 



39 

of us for our admonitions and our assistance. 

MRS. H: — But I can't bear the suspense. It must 
be settled and at once. Look at me, I have 
aged ten years in the last fortnight. We are 
powerless, Ambrose. Alice must act. And the 
one person who can influence Alice is yourself. 

BISHOP — Did you by any chance overhear our last 
conversation about five minutes ago? (laughs) 
She ordered me out of the house ! 

MRS. H : —Impossible ! My dear, you exaggerate I 

BISHOP — Well, in any other woman it would have 
amounted to that, but she did it so well — with 
such inimitable tact ! 

MRS. H: — You spoil her, Ambrose, I have always 
thought so. But tact or no tact, charm or no 
charm, I must know where I am. I must 
know what is to become of my boy — 

BISHOP — In fact you are in such a state that you 
don't very much care what happens so long as 
he takes one or the other, inasmuch as our 
Christian prejudices will not allow him to have 
both ! It was so much easier for parents and 
guardians in the days of Rachel Leah ! 
(At this moment Barbara enters) 

BARBARA— Oh, my lord, the Duchess says, as you 
must go this evening she hopes you will order 
the carriage as late as possible. 

MRS. H : —Surely, Ambrose, you are not going back 
this evening? 

BISHOP— Why? 

MRS. H : —Because, now you are here, we may as 
weU have the little entertainment, after all. 

BARBARA — There is a man outside now with an il- 
luminated address which he wants to present. 

BISHOP — I will come at once. And, Catherine, will 
you tell the Duchess in reply to her kind message 
that the carriage order can wait. I am in no 
particular hurry. 

( He goes off with his sister, leaving Barbara 
alone on the stage. She takes the little 



40 

chain and medal which the Bishop gave her 
from her neck) 
BARBARA — ( kissing the medal ) Oh, St. Anthony, 
do bring me some luck ! Do help things to come 
right ! You know he doesn't love her really, 
nor she him. I will make him such a good wife, 
make things come right ! 

( She is standing by the organ as the Duchess 
enters from the back with some flowers) 
DUCHESS— (looking pale) Oh, Barbara, will you 

help me with these? 
BARBARA — (dropping the chain into the organ) 
Oh ! I am afraid something has gone into the 
organ. 
DUCHESS-What is it? 

BARBARA — (equivocating) Well, I heard something 
fall in with a sort of rattle. How can we get it 
out? 
DUCHESS— Well, it will be safe there anyhow. 
BARBARA— But till when? 
DUCHESS— Till we can get a workman. 
BARBARA— Could he come up to-night? 
DUCHESS— To-night, my dear child, but there is 
not one for miles. I dare say we shall have to 
send to Lille or Paris. An organ is a very 
delicate instrument. (She tries to hum and 
seem cheerful) 

(Francis enters) 
( turning to him ) Barbara thinks something has 
fallen into the organ. I can't think how it got there. 
( Francis goes up to the organ, touches some 
of the notes and they hear a sound) 
FRANCIS — Wliy, it has upset some of the notes — 
F sharp, G sharp, and G. How can we have the 
concert ? 
DUCHESS— (lightly) Oh, they can leave out G 

sharp when they come to it. 
BARBARA — It makes such a whizzy noise. 

(Francis leaves Barbara and goes over to 
the Duchess) 



41 

FRANCIS— How pale 3^ou look ! But you are just 
as beautiful when you are pale — 

DUCHESS— Perhaps it is the scent of the flowers. 

FRAN CIS— I wish we could have stayed by the 
river. 

DUCHESS— (studying him) We were happy there, 
weren't we? (With restrained feeling) I love to 
watch your face. 

FRANCIS— (prosaic and embarrassed) I am sup- 
posed to be very like my Mother. 

DUCHESS— (laughing) But that isn't the reason 
why I love to look at you, silly-billy ! 

FRANCIS— (gaining courage) It is because you see 
sometimes how much I admire — 

BARBARA — (striking note, almost in tears) Oh, it 
does make such a discord ! 

(The Bishop enters, reading an address to 
himself, followed by Mrs. Hericourt) 

BISHOP— A most charming address ! I have been 
compared to the sun and the moon ! The valleys 
have not seen my equal, and the mountains trem- 
ble at the privilege of surrounding my birthplace ! 
All the stars have had the honour of resem- 
bling me ! If I hadn't a slightly stiff neck, my 
head would be turned ! 

FRANCIS — Oh, uncle can mend the organ ! He can 
mend anything. 

(The Duchess looks rigid) 

BARBARA— (entreating) Something has got in 
behind the keys, my lord, and the Duchess does 
so want 3^ou to mend it before the concert. She 
thinks she will have to send to Paris, and that 
will mean days. 

MRS. H: — I don't think, my dear, that Ambrose is 
equal to such important work. 

BISHOP — I don't know. You put me on my mettle, 
Catherine. I can but trj. 

DUCHESS— (coldly ) Of course, my lord, if you will 
stop and be so kind — I myself would not dare to 
ask such a favour ! 



42 

BISHOP — (pleasantly) I can refuse nothing, and 
the curious point is that when I left home, I told 
them not to expect me back, although I had 
made my arrangements. But I had a feeling 
somehow that I should remain here. It was 
just a feeling ! 

( The Duchess hangs her head and the Bishop 
looks round at Barbara and Francis. 

CURTAIN. 

END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



43 



ACT III. 

SCENE: — Morning room in the Chateau de 
Ranee. As curtain rises, the Bishop is seen 
seated on the floor surrounded by organ 
pipes, and his hand is tied up as though 
injured in some way. The room, which is 
beautifully furnished, is littered with tools, 
oil cans, etc. Two pompous men servants 
in livery are assisting, with evident super- 
ciliousness, the Bishop. Francis is looking 
on. 
BISHOP— Grand merci, mes amis, on ne pent pas 
tout faire, mais Dieu merci, je suis horloger, 
jardinier, imprimeur — peut-etre, je perds en ces 
lieux mes beaux talents. Tenez, (gives them 
some money) priez pour moi ! 
(The two men go out) 
BISHOP— (looking after them with admiration) 
My friends sometimes deplore the fact that I am 
so lacking in the grand manner, (returning to 
his task) One should always penetrate to the 
bed-rock of any trouble, my dear Francis. You 
see I am taking this whole organ to pieces in 
order to find the little rift within the lute ! 
FRANCIS — I wonder whether that was necessary. 
BISHOP — So many things are blessings in disguise, 
my dear boy, (ingenuously) How do I know 
this accident has not been sent as an excuse for 
a brief holiday? It is recreation for a tired man, 
whatever I do, I like to do thoroughly 
By the bye, that reminds me, I see you have 
been paying court to ... . (he hesitates slyly 
and hammers a little) Barbara. 
FRAN:— (astonished) What did you say, uncle? 
BISHOP — I say it is evident that you have decided 
to court Barbara. The verb to court, to me, is 



44 

an admirable, chivalrous, if old-fashioned ex- 
pression. I remember a most delightful couplet 
in an old poem by Herrick, which says: — 
"Wash, dress, be brief in prajdng! 
Few beads are best when once M-e go a-maying." 
That means, court while you court, and pray 
Avhile you pray. Guard against a divided mind. 

FRAN: — I am afraid I must own that I don't see 
my way as clearly as I could wish, sir. 

BISHOP— (drily) That is a very common pre- 
dicament. ( He leaves his work, comes down and 
puts his hand on the boy's shoulder and looks 
at him very directly ) Now, if you were in a 
boat and there were two ladies in it besides 
yourself and one w^as Barbara, and one. . . 
was someone else. . . and a great storm arose 
and two of them fell overboard, and you could 
only save one, to whom would you give jonr 
hand? That is my favorite test question for 
hard cases of this sort. It is homely, but effec- 
tive. Imagine, there is the boat, there is the 
deep sea, there, perhaps, is the devil, and the two 
ladies are here ; over they go — and now, what is 
Francis going to do? 

(Francis appears absorbed in thought) 
You must not hesitate. . . 

FRAN:— Oh well, poor little Barbara. . . 

BISHOP— That will do, I can go back to my work 
now ! 

FRAN:— But sir, that is all imagination. 

BISHOP— Ah, but it hits off the difficulty. It may 
not clear your way, but it clears mine. 
(The Duchess is heard talking outside) 

DUCHESS— (outside) You don't mean to say that 
his lordship is working in there ! ( calling aloud ) 
Gustave, who put those chairs in the hall? Fran- 
cois ! 

(The voices of servants are heard in vio- 
lent high toned French. The Duchess enters 
in a hurricane of excitement and on catch- 



45 

ing sight of the organ in pieces wrings her 
hands ) 

DUCHESS— Oh my lord, my lord, my lord ! this is 
naughty. . . my favorite room— and the organ 
in pieces ! 

BISHOP— I shall get it all right, my dear child, in 
about a week. 

DUCHESS— In a Aveek ! But the dust, the confusion ! 
And you have hurt yourself on the hand. ... I 
am really very angry ! I am altogether put out 
and cross. Really, my lord, it is too bad. It is 
most unsuitable work for you. (She half cries 
and half laughs) And I want you Francis, to take 
this letter to Monsignor Campden. The car- 
riage is there. I am too busy to go myself- 
wait for an answer because it is important 
(with a reassuring glance) That is why I 
trust no one else with it. 

(Francis takes the letter and goes out) 

DUCHESS— I have been thinking over all you said. 
I don't get calmer, I get more angry. I will 
have my own way. Surely if I have found some 
one at last I with whom I can be happy, 
and whom I can make happy, I am 
right to resent any advice no matter how well 

meant— and I do resent it and of course, I 

see why you have pulled the organ to pieces. 
You think I ought to be watched 

BISHOP— In chess one is always taught to take care 
of the Queen ! The Queen can move all over the 
board, whereas the Bishop can only move diag- 
onally ! 

DUCHESS— (stamping her foot) Oh, how can you 
sit there talking about chess when I am in- 
such a rage that it is on the verge of a mortal sin ! 

BISHOP— It seems to me that if I don't sit peace- 
fully—the mortal sin would be committed. The 
verge is better. 

DUCHESS— You don't seem to understand that you 
have made me very unhappy. 



46 

BISHOP— (more seriously) Now, wait, even if I 
admit that you care for this boy, how do 
you know that he cares for you? 

DUCHESS — Oh, I know it by a thousand signs ! 

BISHOP— My dear child, in the depths of his heart 
he loves Barbara. She is his natural choice — 
you dazzle him, intoxicate him, if you like — 
and you have just that power over him which 
could make him always discontented with any 
other person, but I want you to use your gifts 
in quite another direction. I want you to make 
these two young people happy. All that you 
do will be well done — that I know. 

DUCHESS — I give with all my heart what I have, 
and indeed, what I have not — when I can bor- 
row it, but you ask for something now which I 
can neither beg nor borrow — another person's 
happiness, (she laughs) 

BISHOP — Do you suppose I am thinking only of 
Francis? Am I not thinking of you too? Ah, 
exercise your prudence. 

DUCHESS— But I don't want to! Why should I 
sacrifice myself for that girl? She is not so 
hard to please as I am, she could find easily at 
any ball a dozen young men who might please 
her, but Francis is to me one in the whole world 

BISHOP — Ah, you think so — and the more particu- 
larly because someone else admires him also. 

DUCHESS — (continuing) She takes all his charm, 
all his enthusiasm, as a matter of course. When 
she has been in the world a few years longer and 
learns to know men and women as I have — Ah, 
you must understand One loves his simplicity, 

BISHOP — But could you, with your life and your 
tastes, find pleasure in the perpetual contem- 
plation of unrelieved simplicity? He is not a 
brilliant boy, he is not a man with a great 
future, he is just a boyish boy, in fact, to be 
perfectly honest, he is rather stupid ! He is 
my own nephew and I can say so. 



47 

DUCHESS— (begins to laugh) But he is so hand- 
some ! 

BISHOP— Ah, that is another question altogether. 
I see you are wavering; you cannot answer my 
objections. 

DUCHESS — I am not wavering, and I don't care 
whether he is stupid or not. 

BISHOP — But you will care, whereas that girl, that 
poor little girl — would she ever find his intellect 
somewhat— shall I say drowsy? Never! 

DUCHESS— (drily) I am not sure that you know 
women well. 

BISHOP— (rather piqued) I know life, which is 
more important, perhaps. 

DUCHESS— You tempt me to heroism, but I have 
seen no evidence at all of this great devotion be- 
tween Francis and Barbara. There ! You, my 
lord, seem to be sustained by inward convic- 
tions—graces to which I cannot pretend. I 
want some sign — something to encourage 
me. 

( At this moment Barbara enters quietly. She 
seems surprised to see the Duchess and is 
about to go away) 

BISHOP— Don't go away, my child. Come in, al- 
though I must go now and get myself tidy. 
When does the fete begin? 

DUCHESS— They ought to be here in about half 
an hour. 

BISHOP— (ruefully) Well, I am afraid they won't 
be able to use the organ. 
(He goes out) 

DUCHESS— (carelessly ) Do you know you have 
made a conquest? 

BARBARA— Have I? 

DUCHESS-Yes, the Bishop- 

B ARB : — ( disappointed ) Oh ! 

DUCHESS— (arranging flowers around the room) 
Don't you think it is a greater thing to please 
a saint who is a genius into the bargain than 



48 

any ordinary man (watches the girl) no mat- 
ter how young or fascinating? 

BARB: — I don't see why one couldn't please both. 

DUCHESS — (taken aback) perhaps you have. Are 
you glad that Francis has given up his idea of 
going into the Church? 

BARB : — I think it a pity that all the good men 
should become priests. 

DUCHESS — How long have you known Francis? 

BARB : —Two or three years. But we met at long 
intervals. 

DUCHESS— (lightly) Has he changed at all in the 
last year? 

BARB: — In some ways. 

DUCHESS— Well, is he nicer than he used to be, or 
not so nice— that sort of thing? 

BARB : — He is more interesting. 

DUCHESS — It is a pity he is so timid. 

BARB : — Oh, do you think he is timid? (thoughtfully) I 
haven't noticed that. 

DUCHESS — I mean he lacks self-confidence. Surely 
a man ought to be — well, dashing. 

BARB: — How strange it is we should see him so 
differently, (dreamily) Now, he is quite my idea 
of a cavalier. 

DUCHESS— ( quietly ) I suppose so. But I feel that 
he could talk better if he chose. 

BARB : — But he is a tremendous talker, dear Duch- 
ess. I think that is how he gets on with me. I 
am perhaps a good listener. 

DUCHESS— (at once) What does he talk about? 

BARB: — Oh, about his thoughts, what he is going 
to do, what he has done, and what he thinks 
about everybody else. It is wonderful to hear 
what Francis thinks of everybody else. Nothing 
escapes him — he is such a judge of character. 

DUCHESS— (inquisitively) Well, what does he 
think of me for instance. 

BARB : — I think you know. 

DUCHESS— No, I don't really. I often wonder. In 



49 

fact, I am altogether surprised. I don't believe 
I know him after all. 
BARB : — Well, you see, when he is with you, you talk 
and he is the listener. That makes such a difference. 
( The Duchess is surprised at this and before 
she can recover from her astonishment Fran- 
cis enters carrying a letter in his hand) 
DUCHESS — Have you come back already? 
FRANCIS— Yes, and Monsignor Campden sent you 
this letter. 

(He stands between the two women and 
while he gives the Duchess the letter he looks 
at Barbara. The Duchess perceives this. She 
takes the letter. ) 
DUCHESS— (lightly) I shall want you in a minute 
to make some suggestions about the other side 
of the organ; they are getting out some old 
tapestry now. Your uncle has quite spoilt my 
room for the party this afternoon. I will read 
this letter first. 
FRANCIS — I have never seen the Monsignor in such 
spirits. I suppose he is looking forward to the 
fete. The whole village is in a state of excite- 
ment and rival bands are doing their best to 
drown each other. One is playing the march 
from ' ' Faust, ' ' and the other is struggling through 
"Rousseau's Dream." Wlien I left, the Dream 
was getting the upper hand ! 
DUCHESS— You said that just like your uncle ! 
FRANCIS— But wait till you see this ! They have 
been printed at the Abbey under uncle's supervis- 
ion. They are rather striking. 

(He unrolls some posters, very badly printed, 
the type quite crooked running up into the 
corner, words are left unfinished. The an- 
nouncement is 

Grande Fete 
Donnee Marie de Paque 
par la permission 
de Madame la Duchesse de Quen) 



50 

DUCHESS— (laughing and taking one) I'll go and 
show it to him. 

( She goes out, glancing over her shoulder at 
the young couple as she goes) 

FRANCIS — (awkwardly) I have been down to the 

Abbey I wish you had been with me. Where 

did you hide all the morning? 

BARB : — I thought I would keep out of the way. 

FRANCIS— (volubly forgetting himself for once in a 
short burst of emotion ) But it was just the 
day for us ! The sky hadn't a cloud, all along 
the road on either side the flowers were spring- 
ing up. It was not the time when the birds sing, 
but I knew they were all around me and I was 
thinking of you, and how sweet and dear you 
have always been to me — how you have en- 
couraged, how you have understood me, how 
patient you have been and 

BARB : — ( encouraginglv ) And then 

FRANCIS— (thoughtfully) Then I thought, that— 
although this was very beautiful — the life here 
— it was really only a prelude. I must get to 
work and deserve my prize — before I think too 
much about it. 

BARB:— Wliat is your prize? 

FRANCIS— (suddenly becoming self-concious ) I 
want to ask you a question. 

BARB : — ( nervously ) What about ? 

FRANCIS— (In a laboured manner) It is a test 
question. Now suppose you were in a boat with 
two friends, and they fell overboard, and you 
could only save one — which one would you save? 
It is supposed to be a way of finding out which 
of the two you like the best, but you must not 
think over your answer, you must say it quick- 
ly 

BARB: — (hurt) Well, if I was in a boat with two 
friends, — say, your mother and ym mother 

FRANCIS— No, that doesn't come right, if you make 
it mothers ! I think you had better say two 



51 

men. I mean, if I were one of them, and a very 
handsome delightful, brilliant friend were the 
other, would j'ou let me drown? 
BARB :— I never heard of such a question ! I don't 
understand it at all, and of course I can't tell 
. onto your own face that I should save the other 
and you wouldn't believe me if I did. It is very 
unkin ! ( indignantly ) 
FRANCIS — No, it is only my awkwardness. I want- 
ed to explain that you had been misunderstand- 
ing me. 
BARB : — Oh, no, I have not. I must say it is very 
difficult for 3^ou, in the present situation, to 
know just how to act. It is not your fault. I 
hope it isn't anybody's fault,— but I hate the 
boat story ! It is almost as though you were 
making fun. 

(the Bishop enters and notices her agitation 
and Francis) 
BISHOP — Although I have made myself respectable 
again the very sight of these tools excites me to 
work ! 

( The Duchess's voice is heard calling loudly 
in the next room) 
DUCHESS— Francis ! Francis ! 
BISHOP— I fancy there is some one calling you, 
Francis ! 

( Francis goes up, seems to hesitate and the 
Duchess is heard again — " Francis." He goes 
out and Barbara stands still a moment un- 
til he is out of earshot. She then goes to 
the Bishop) 
BARB :— Oh, my lord, I haven't been able to tell you 
that I know what is the matter with the organ. 
I dropped the little chain into it. 
BISHOP— What ! the little chain with the medal 

on it? 
BARB:— Yes, my lord, I couldn't mention it be- 
fore the others, because I didn't want anyone to 
know that you had given it to me. 



52 

BISHOP— Then it isn't in the pedals or behind the 
key board. I needn't have done all this. 

BARB: — If you doq' miqd , my lord, I have go a 
headache. I seems as though I— had a head- 
ache. 

(She goes out, leaving the Bishop alone) 

BISHOP — (at the organ) When I see young people 
I have not the slightest desire to be young 
again. It is such a blessing to have got all this 
kind of thing over and done with, (picking up 
the tools) Now, I don't see why I shouldn't go 
on with this; it is very engrossing, (hammers 
a little) All the same, as we are on the subject 
of youth, it is astonishing that Francis should 
really prefer that girl, charming as she may be, 
to that noble creature whose one fault is too 
much heart. Yes, her heart runs away with her 
( starts back ) Hallo ! 

(From the other side of the organ the Duch- 
ess's hand covered with rings is seen, holding 
the small chain) 

DUCHESS— (from the other side) I have found it. 
Oh, I have found it ! 

BISHOP — Wait, wait, wait, you will hurt yourself, 
if you are not careful. 

(he slides some of the wood back and the 
Duchess comes through) 

BISHOP— So you are the little rift within the lute ! 

DUCHESS— (holding the chain in her hand) Mind 
my gown, you are spoiling my gown. I thought 
I would do my share in the hunt, but, not pos- 
sessing miraculous gifts, I found this at once, 
(holding it up) Did you drop it in my lord? 

BISHOP-Not I! 

DUCHESS— Then whose is it? (she examines it) 
Why, what is this? Francis ! It belongs to 
Francis ! 

BISHOP— Is there anything else on it? 

DUCHESS— (looking closely) Is there any thing 
else on it? Barbara. VVh}^, it is scratched on. 



53 

BISHOP— Well, are you satisfied now? Do you want 

any further sign? • 
PUCHESS— Do you suppose he gave it to her, or 
she gave it to him? (looks at the Bishop and 
begins to laugh though she is half in tears ) He 
never wrote my name on any medal. I suppose 
it is a love token. There it is quite plainly— 
Francis— Barbara. It looks like fate, doesn't it? 

(she laughs) The two names 

BISHOP— And you found it ! 

DUCHESS— (trying to control her chagrin) And 
she never missed it ! If he had given it to me 
and I had lost it, I should have missed it. But 
I see you have been right. I have been talking 
to her. She doesn't know the Frank I know, 
but it is the real Frank whom neither of us 
know. He tells her things he would never tell 
us, and if she doesn't think him stupid, it is be- 
cause he is not. I have been selfish— I will make 
it all come right — you shall see. 

(The Duchess turns away trying to master 
her emotion, and seeing Francis and Bar- 
bara on the terrace goes to the Bishop and 
puts her hand on his arm) 
DUCHESS— Will you call Francis for me? I don't 
like to call him myself. I have been calling him 
too often lately, (she points to the terrace 
where Barbara and Francis are talking together) 
And bring in the little girl by and bye. 
BISHOP— (meekly) Shall I take her around the 

lake? 
DUCHESS— No, keep near, I don't want you to go 
so very far away. 

(The Bishop is about to speak to her, but 
checks himself and goes slowly out of the 
room as the Duchess stands looking at the 
little chain. When left alone she wipes away 
some tears. The Bishop is seen talking to 
Francis on the terrace and Francis comes 
slowly into the room) 



54 

FRANCIS— It is so beautiful in the garden, Uncle 
says he thinks you ought to come out. 

DUCHESS— (lightly) I will come in a minute, but I 
want to rest first and I want you to amuse me. 

FRANCIS— I am not clever enough to do that. 

DUCHESS— Well, then I will amuse you. Sit down, 
(she is about to make room for him on the sofa, 
hesitates and points to a chair instead) over 
there and I can sit here. I think I will tell you 
a little stor3\ Once upon a time 

FRANCIS— (indignant) You treat me as though I 
were a child. 

DUCHESS— Do I? No, really, have you just found 
that out? Why, Francis, you are a child— 
not in years perhaps, but certainly in temper. 
You had much better let me tell you a story. 
Once upon a time there was a youth and he 
loved — 

FRANCIS— Loved ! Did you say? 

DUCHESS— Yes, 1-o-v-e-d ! He loved a very pretty 
young girl but— (looks at Francis) 

FRANCIS-Well- 

DUCHESS— But he didn't know it, and so one day 
he met his fairy godmother. She was not an 
ugly old godmother, I cannot go so far as that, 
you could not expect me to say that — and she 
said to herself, " I must bring him to his senses." 
Now, what do you suppose she did? 

FRANCIS— (roused) I can tell you if you like. 

DUCHESS— No, can you? That will be amusing. 

FRANCIS— She made herself as fascinating as she 
could, and she made a fool of the young 
man ! 

DUCHESS— No, she didn't! Because you see, she 
never meant to be sincere; she never supposed 
that he would think she was. She knew, too, 
that there was no chance of his ever loving her, 
that is why it was so harmless, do you see, 
Frank? She Just wanted to make him see how 
much nicer the girl was than she was. It was 



55 

unselfish of the fairy-godmother all the same — 

perfectly sweet of the fairy-god mother, 
(he looks blankly at her) 

Perhaps I don't tell the story well? 
FRANCIS— Oh yes, you do ! It is what they call 

letting me down gently ! 
DUCHESS— I don't care what you think so long as 

you believe that she acted for the best. 
FRANCIS— (eagerly) You could have had it all 

your own way very easily— oh, so easily ! 
DUCHESS— Is that true? Then this is my way, 

dear. Confess now you are glad? You are se- 
cretly relieved? 
FRANCIS— And haven't you really cared what 

became of me? 
DUCHESS— I don't care much about anything else 

and and — that is, I am so sure and so 

convinced that you love Barbara. 

( she watches him narrowly but he makes no 
protest ) 

And you do, don't you? 

( he looks at her and seems to be distrustful ) 

I knew it ! ( she turns to the terrace and calls 

Barbara) ! 
FRANCIS — Wliat are you going to say? 
DUCHESS— Oh never mind, something you want to 

hear. 

(the Bishop and Barbara come in from the 
terrace ) 
DUCHESS— Barbara ! What do you think Barbara? 

The little chain is found ! 
BARB: — (embarrassed) Oh, who found it? 
DUCHESS— I saw it behind the keys. 
FRANCIS— But I thought I lost it on the road last 

week. How did it get there? 
DUCHESS (looking from one to sthe other) Is it 

yours then? Which is the true owner? 
BARB : — (in a low voice ) It is not really mine. 
BISHOP— (slyly) Could it by any chance belong 

to both of you? 

L.ofC. 



56 

DUCHESS— (giving it to Francis) Ask her if it 
may. 

(Francis looks at the Duchess and at Bar- 
bara hesitating. The Duchess put her hand 
on Barbara's shoulder) 
Scold him first and say "Yes" afterwards — 
( As the young couple turn away the Duchess 
looks at the Bishop and tries to laugh but 
it is choked) 
BISHOP — (going over to her) It was generously 

done ! You'll be glad I suppose I may take 

it that I have lost my roof ! But I have gained 
something better, much better, I have got a new 
saint instead ! 
DUCHESS— (through her tears) Oh, it is easy for 

you to renounce — 
BISHOP— Oh, not so easy. 

( At this moment Mrs. Hericourt enfers with 
Monsignor Campden) 
MRS. H : — (in great excitement going to the Duch- 
ess. ) My dear Duchess how splendid of you ! 
Monsignor Campden has just told me. I can- 
not find words the whole village is over- 
whelmed with Joy ! 
BISHOP — Surely the news has not reached it al- 
ready? 
MONSIG: — (to Duchess) Have you told his lord- 
ship? 
DUCHESS— Not a word ! As I wrote to you, it has 
been a secret, (turning to the Bishop) The 
Bishop, you know, can only move diagonally, 
whereas the Queen can move all over the board ! 
BISHOP— What is the mystery? I am suspecting 

— I am hoping — 
MONSIG:— The Duchess has given us the roof as a 
gift ! 

(The Bishop is about to thank her, when 
the Duchess checks him) 
DUCHESS— No, no, no thanks ! It is a drawn 
game ! 



57 

BISHOP— With advantage, I think to the Bishop ! 
(At this moment the band is heard playing 
in the distance, "Rousseau's Dream," and 
great sound of cheering. Two footmen enter 
ushering in some children headed by a little 
girl carrying two enormous bouquets fol- 
lowed by the Mayor with an address and a 
crowd of peasants and others. The Bishop 
takes the Duchess by the hand to receive 
the deputa tion and the curtain falls) 

END OF THE PLAY. 



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